


light up the sky like a flame

by timeladyleo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fandot Secret Santa, M/M, Musicals AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyleo/pseuds/timeladyleo
Summary: Martin is a lighting guy for Carolyn's theatre company, and all he wants is Douglas to notice him.For doorwaytoparadise, in the 2017 secret santa!





	light up the sky like a flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doorwaytoparadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/gifts).



> I hope you have had a brilliant Christmas, and here's to 2018 being great!
> 
> I haven't counted all the references in this, but I hope they are appreciated nevertheless. Please excuse any inaccuracies - I only appreciate musicals, not produce them!

He liked the shadows. Behind the lights, behind the spotlight, where he could watch. That was where he was meant to be. Background. Silent. Unnamed and unmentioned, but he knew, he knew they couldn’t do it without him. 

Red to white, into blue, and dim. Slowly up, and centre. The sun falls through the stained glass, and the colours fall warm over the pit. 

And now,as the overture began, he ran through the exact list of what he needed to di for every second. The curtains rose, and he lost himself to the lights, reciting every word that he’d heard a thousand times, hidden in the darkest shadow. 

He didn't mind. That's what he said, and it’s what he tried to mean. When asked if he wished he were on stage, he said no. He liked to be important, but sometimes, the desire, the child within him grew wild, changed his story in his head into one where he was lit, bright, wanted. 

The sound checks faded into the background. Martin sat in the wings, pretending to read the script. No-one ever bothered him, which was fine, because it meant he could watch undisturbed. It did not matter to him what show they did, anything goes, as they said - and it did. He did what he was told. 

In his dreams, he was on stage. In his dreams, he was Valjean, the hero; he was the Phantom, the ghost; he was ensemble and solo, partner and alone. 

Back to reality, he watched their star. How Martin loved to follow him with the spot! There was never a performance without passion, every one had his every heart it. Even in rehearsal. That was what Martin thought anyway. In his dreams recently, he’d been part of that pair, the Whizzer or the Kevin. He’d do anything, he thought, to have just one moment in Douglas’ spotlight. 

He pushed that away. It was not for him. How could Douglas ever look at him? When he had a lovely lady hanging from his arm, singing sweet love songs with him, and doting fans who showered him with affection. And MArtin was a lowly tech guy, and starts never thought twice of those in the shadows. 

Once, they had spoken. Carolyn - ex-opera singer, current manager, director, queen of spades, dictator of theatre - had been telling him what to do, and DOuglas had sauntered over. He’d wanted to settle a small matter, one of her son, quibbling a slight acting decision. 

He’d said hello to Martin, and Martin had felt himself melt. 

Suddenly, all those songs of longing, pining, wanting had made sense. Carolyn had dismissed him, telling him to go away and see Herc because it has his job to deal with the actors. Douglas had been a little haughty, but Carolyn had lowevered her eyebrows and he had backed down. Martin admired her deeply, and owed a lot to her. Who else would have hired him with his lack of experience?

And then Douglas was gone, and he was alone. He liked being alone, and Carolyn had given him a lot to do. There was no time now, not so close to the show to be pining. He was very busy. All he would do is bury himself in his work, and try not to feel every time he saw Douglas gaze up into the spotlight, his lungs heaving, eyes shining. 

Martin was glad he liked the leading lady this time. If she had been unbearable, he thought his heart might have broken even more. Theresa was a soprano who had enjoyed success mostly as Disney princesses, and was looking for more. Carolyn had been impressed with her audition, and Martin was pleased that she shared some words with him every now and again. 

It was nice when someone noticed him. Appreciated him. 

The weeks leading up to the last dress rehearsal weer always the worst. Martin felt the tensions acutely, and could see everyone’s fears unfolding. The ensemble were being touchy, people with bit parts were messing up their one line. He was expecting Carolyn to have several long, loud words at them. He intended not to be in the room. 

Arthur never seemed to have these anxieties. He loved to perform, and Martin often wondered why he did not aim for pantomime. Arthur would be excellent in one, MArtin thought, funny and kind and so much larger than life. People underestimated him often, because they saw him as dopey and stupid. But he was not, he just had a different approach. And he had a soft and warm voice that was every bit as beautiful as Douglas’ big and bold sound. 

He walked through the wings, not expecting to be seen, like usual. Theresa tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, physically. She apologised. He shook his head, because it certainly was not her. She asked if he would help her, and he said of course, because it was his job to help. 

And so, for reasons not quite known to him, he followed her to her dressing room. Next to Douglas’s. 

Martin found that most dressing rooms were the same - they looked like the person who inhabited them. Theresa’s was tidy, warm, but filled with personal trinkets: a letter on the wall, a small princess bobblehead, a small whiteboard with notes-to-self. She ducked under her desk and produced a small, plain bag. She opened it to him, and he saw inside her tap shoes. 

She was a dancer, skilled in more disciplines than Martin knew, and it took him a moment to understand what she was saying to him. The heel had come loose on her right shoe, and she was afraid to bother anyone else with it, as everyone was so busy. Really, all she needed was a new screw, she said. Martin looked at it and frowned. It was the hole for the screw as much as anything else. 

He would have it back to her by the evening he promised. He would make sure that it would cause her no trouble. It was no trouble to him, he promised. He was ahead of what he needed to do anyway, so it wasn’t a problem. It was, after all, his job to help everything run smoothly. 

It was nice to be appreciated. 

He left her room, and paused. Douglas was next door, his laughter echoing through the walls, hitting Martin and leaving him all to aware of how empty this corridor was, how someone else was making Douglas laugh. Without thinking, he raised his fist a small amount, almost going to knock on his door. 

But no. Why would he do that? Idiot. What possible reason did he have for bothering Douglas? He couldn’t claim to be there for sound, or for costume, and there were few reasons why a lighting guy needed to speak to an actor. 

He took a breath and walked away. There was more to be done. He had a job to do, and now someone who had, for the first time in a long time, paid attention to him had given him a task. Later, when he returned the shoe, she thanked him with such sincerity it made him blush. Certainly, he was not used to being thanked, other than a vague gesture on closing night. 

All too soon, he was back behind his lights, back to the shadows. It was were he was meant to be. It wasn't going to be his turn, but that was okay. He was needed here. 

Dress rehearsals came at pace, and were wrapped in coloured ribbons and tears. Douglas stood, alone on the stage, and sang. Martin cried a quiet tear but did not forget his cue. 

Carolyn checked on him a couple of times, making sure it was all going smoothly. He showed her his list of things to do, and things that had been done. If only, she said, if only everyone had Martin’s precision. Everything would go much more smoothly then. At least one person was in control, and she was lucky to have him. 

Martin kicked himself after she left. Why was he so oblivious? Of course he was a necessary part of proceedings, none of the stupid actors could do what they did without him. Yet here he was, pathetic and insecure. Nothing was good enough for him, was it? 

He was ignoring the real issue, as he did best. 

All he really wanted was Douglas. 

But he’d seen Douglas looking at Theresa, and at Helena, and Sarah and Katie and the girl who played Eponine once who Martin didn’t know the name of. He was kidding himself to think he could even get onto Douglas’ radar as a friend. He was a man who only associated with the finest people. He was the finest of people. Martin had walked past him talking to Milo, one of the finest dancers in the ensemble. They had been standing in the corner giggling, backs turned on everyone else. 

Martin tried to accept that he was just not talented enough to be there. 

Still, he shed a tear every night as the show ran, as Douglas sang his big song, the sheer power blowing Martin away every time. He could never be sick of watching this, he thought. Never. He hit his cue. 

The amount of effort that goes into rehearsal rarely felt proportional to the amount of nights the show ran, Martin thought. Too soon, too soon it was the final week. There was mutterings of the after show party. Martin didn’t expect he would go, or if he did it would be to be polite for a drink or so. He’d had a nightmare a few days ago about drinking too much and confessing to Douglas. 

As the final show drew near, Martin concentrated harder than ever on his work. There was no room for distraction if he wanted to get it right. It wouldn’t be fair to let them down now.

He always allowed himself to enjoy the last performance. All the rest, he put his whole focus into, but by this point all that he needed to do had become so mechanical that he could allow a little autopilot and watch the show more properly. Still, he found tears in his eyes at Douglas, as he always did, but this time he felt the emotion more strongly than ever. 

As he brought the lights up for the bows he found tears still running down his face. 

Carolyn came on stage to thank everyone, the cast and the crew, the audience and musicians. Theresa gave her a huge bouquet of flowers, and Arthur gave some to Douglas who smiled. And then he leaned into Carolyn and she nodded, handing him the microphone she had in her hand. 

“I would also like to thank someone for whom I have a great amount of admiration. He does a job without thanks, but one that is necessary for all of us. I give you Martin Crieff, man in charge of lighting, and a man who I would very much like to take for a drink after the show.” 

Martin’s heart stopped, then soared.


End file.
